


Road Kill

by Beatrice_Otter



Category: Die Hard (1988)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Hostage Situations, Post-Canon, Women Being Awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-17
Updated: 2013-12-17
Packaged: 2018-01-04 21:44:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1086024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beatrice_Otter/pseuds/Beatrice_Otter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The trick with the packing tape didn't work, and now John's a hostage too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Road Kill

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to thursdaynext_27 for the beta

John McClane did not pass out.

At least, he didn't _think_ he did. He didn't remember coming to, at any rate.

But he couldn't be sure, because here he was, leaning on Holly in the back of an ambulance with a throbbing headache and shooting pains in his left foot while good ol' Karl pointed a gun at him and glared, and he wasn't too sure how they'd gotten here.

Seriously, it was one hell of a glare. The kind that said the glarer's greatest ambition at the moment was to rip you apart with his bare hands and then piss on the bloody remains. John was a connoisseur of glares like that; most cops were. Perps gave 'em to you all the time when they were busted. But usually, John was the one with a gun. And now, he didn't even have a bulletproof vest.

Still. Karl looked even worse than John felt, and that gave him a kinda warm, fuzzy feeling inside.

He had vague memories of being shoved in the back of the ambulance, but the last thing he really remembered was seeing the packing tape and having the brilliant idea to tape the gun to his back so he could surprise Hans and his crew and rescue Holly.

 _Guess it wasn't that brilliant an idea, after all,_ he thought.

"No, it wasn't, John," Holly said quietly.

What the hell? Had he said that out loud? He must've, because Holly couldn't read his mind. She said that often enough. He frowned up at her. It _looked_ like there were two of her, but that must be the headache. If he failed, he'd thought he'd get _shot_ , not bashed upside the head.

"That was a brave thing you did, John," Holly said quietly. "A very brave thing, and thank you for trying to save me. But it was also _stupid_. If it was just us, it wouldn't be, but we've got to think of the kids. What are they going to do without us, John? At least one of us needs to get out of here. They need a father who's alive more than they need a hero. So if you see a chance for you to escape—you _take it_ , and don't even look back for me."

"Holly," John said, and stopped, not sure what to say. "They need you more than me. You're their _mom_."

"Thank you," Holly said. "But better a father and no mother than no parents at all."

That … John didn't know if that made sense, or if it was just his concussion saying that was crazy. He knew what the words meant; he just couldn't put them together in a way that made sense. It was his _job_ to protect people, that's what he got _paid_ for, and of course he needed to protect his _family_ more than anything else.

"Yes, McClane," came a voice from that John would really rather forget. "Listen to your wife, and take the coward's way out. Save yourself—it would be such a pity for your beautiful children to grow up without any parents at all. No need to be a hero." Gruber smiled at him from the front passenger seat, but it was a sickly kind of thing, like he didn't actually know how to smile because something was funny, so he'd practiced in front of a mirror.

Now, that kinda made John's blood boil, because who was Gruber—Gruber whose plans John had managed to stop all by himself—to call John a coward? Gruber was the one who sent out his guys to die while John put his own skin on the line for his wife and her coworkers.

But he looked up at Holly, and he _knew_ the look on her face. It was a look he'd seen all too often, lately, when they fought. He'd seen it the first time in some stupid argument over … something that had seemed huge, at the time. He'd said something about the guys at the station giving him grief, and Holly had given him that look and said, _Well, John, I guess you're just going to have to decide which is more important to you. The guys down at the station, or me._ It hadn't been that simple—Holly never really _got_ what it was like to be a cop, any more than he really got what her career meant to her. But now it was. Because the only thing he wanted from Hans was to watch the asshole die. It wasn't him versus Holly versus both of their jobs, it was him and Holly against the world.

"Gee, thanks for the advice, Hans," John said. "Your concern is so thoughtful." Maybe if the jackhammer in his head would just _stop_ he could've put up a zinger in response. Holly rubbed his back. God, it felt good.

"We should kill them now," Karl said.

John twisted his head to see the other terrorist. Karl's knuckles were white against the barrell of the Steyr AUG he'd almost blown John's brain off with, and how the _fuck_ he'd gotten down from where he'd been hanging, John didn't know, but he'd stopped to pick up his weapon first. Had he knocked John out? No, Karl would probably just've shot him. Had it been Hans? Someone else? Were Karl and Hans and whoever was driving the only three terrorists left? He closed his eyes, fighting the urge to puke. His head was gonna kill him, and the ambulance's movements weren't helping.

He and Holly were in a really bad position, he realized. Hans and the black guy driving the ambulance were up front. John couldn't remember most of the names he'd heard over the radio, but he supposed by now it didn't matter. Hans had one of the MP5's. Karl was in the back next to the rear door. John and Holly were between them. To get out, they'd have to get past either Karl or Hans. And yeah, if one of them started shooting they were likely to hit their own guy, but first they'd get John and Holly. And given the murderous look Karl was giving Hans, John wasn't sure Karl would mind Hans getting killed by friendly fire. As bloody and beaten as he was, the bastard was still fairly vibrating with rage.

"Not until we are safely away," Hans said. "When we're almost at our destination you can do whatever you want with them, but until then we may need them as hostages if we are discovered."

"That wasn't part of the plan," Karl said.

"Yes, well, neither was losing most of our crew," Hans said. "Enough has gone wrong tonight that I am _not_ taking chances. You'll have your revenge, but I intend for us all to live past it, and for that we may need them alive."

Karl slammed a fist against the side of the truck. "Stop making excuses! We're away, nobody is following us, they don't even know we're alive, we don't need them any longer!"

"They may figure it out soon," the driver said.

"What?" Hans said, glaring at him.

"When I was getting the ambulance out, there was a guy. He tried to jump me, but I got him instead. I don't know how long he'll be out, but he's not dead. I stashed him in the trunk of a limo down there with the luggage—if he's awake by the time they get around to searching down there, he can shout and they'll find him. But who knows how long that'll take?"

"Why didn't you kill him?" Hans asked. "You _idiot_ , why couldn't you have made _sure_ he couldn't tell them anything?"

"Hey," the black kid said, "you want shooters, you can find them a dime a dozen in any ghetto in the world. Me? I am a _specialist_. Let's not forget that _my_ part of this whole exercise is the only part that went _exactly_ according to plan."

"Yes, of course, Theo," Hans said. An annoyed smile was pasted on his face; it was patently fake, and more of a sneer than anything else. Like Hans didn't know how to smile, but someone had told him he should try anyway. John wondered how long Theo would live once they didn't need him anymore.

"Well, Mr. McClane, I guess this is your lucky day," Hans said. "We really _do_ need you as hostages. I think even _Karl_ can see the value in keeping you alive just a little longer—right, Karl?" He raised an eyebrow and stared past John and Holly at Karl.

Karl snarled—seriously, did the guy have any other expression?—but didn't answer. Hans didn't seem to need one, turning away to face forward in his seat. Now it was just Karl pointing a gun at them—progress.

John surveyed the interior of the ambulance for something—anything—they could use. It was hard to see straight; his head was killing him. He frowned. "Hey," he said, "what are all these boxes? Where's the stretcher?" Should he have said that out loud, or was that giving too much away?

"You only need a stretcher for a _live_ body," Karl said. "A corpse you can just throw out in the trash."

"It's $640 million in bearer bonds," Holly said. "Plus anything else portable from the vault that caught their eye. They're not terrorists at all, just common thieves."

"Oh, as I told you before, Mrs. McClane," Hans said, looking over his shoulder with a smile, "we are very _uncommon_ thieves."

"What?" John said.

"They needed a distraction while they broke through into the vault downstairs," Holly said. "We were the distraction. Everybody was so busy worrying about terrorists and hostages and explosions, nobody noticed the ambulance driving away with the thieves."

"This was all about _money_?" John said. "How do you go from terrorist to thief?"

"Why do you think they're mutually exclusive?" Hans said, turning back to them. "Terrorism isn't cheap. Guns, ammunition, explosives, heavy weaponry, training … and all of it through back-alley channels. You can't just walk into your local convenience store for a gun. All of that means money. The Volksfrei will denounce me for this … but they'll still take the money."

"Not all of it!" Theo said.

"No, of course not," Hans said, as if it was obvious. "You see, McClane, there are old terrorists, and there are bold terrorists, but there are no old, bold, terrorists. I have been a bold terrorist, and now I wish to become an old one. I am retiring. But retirement for one such as me is a chancy thing—no pension fund, such as you yourself have. So I must shift for myself. Part of this goes to my brother, to finance his operations with the Volksfrei. He's too young to retire, he says. The other half," he smiled, "will support us for _life_ some place where the weather is warm and the women are willing."

"You're a pig," Holly said.

"Careful, Mrs. McClane," Hans said. "Isn't that what you Americans call cops?"

"So, if you're splitting half the money between your group, you should be happy I weeded most of them out," John said. "After all, that means more for you."

Karl growled.

Hans shrugged at him. "Some of the foot soldiers were just hired muscle. They were getting a flat rate, not a share of the money. I had no love for them, and I don't care that they're gone. But others were comerades that I've worked with for years. One of them was Karl's brother, Tony, one of the first you killed. So I would be careful, if I were you. After all, we may need you for hostages, but we don't need to keep you _healthy_ for that. If you don't _shut up_ I may decide that Karl can have a bit of fun with you when we stop. Or possibly with your wife. Or both? So _be quiet_." He turned forward in his seat again.

John turned his attention back to his survey of the ambulance. He and Holly were huddled together sitting on the bench that ran along one side of the ambulance. There were metal boxes full of loot sitting on the floor of the ambulance where the stretcher went. Karl was crouching in the back of the ambulance against the rear door, with a machine gun pointed at them; Hans was sitting in the front with another across his lap. Theo was driving and didn't look to be armed. Holly's legs were real strong; if she braced against the side, shoved the boxes against Karl, and locked her knees, could she keep him pinned against the door? Maybe. And he had the butt of his gun low enough it might even catch it so he couldn't bring it to bear on them. Then John'd be free to tackle Hans. The odds weren't great, but better than waiting until they stopped.

"If you're going to let me have some fun, why wait until we stop?" Karl asked. "I'll keep him alive, I promise. Though he may prefer I didn't."

Karl's attention was on Hans up front. John nudged Holly and mimed what he wanted her to do, hands hidden between them. She nodded.

"Not in _here_ , you idiot," Hans said. "Close quarters, no way to get the one you're not working on far enough away she can't interfere? No, we—"

Holly burst into motion, kicking the box against Karl. John surged towards Hans, grabbing the muzzle of his gun and forcing it upward. Ah, _there_ was the adrenaline rush again; his pain faded as he grappled with Hans.

Theo was yelling, but John couldn't spare him any attention. Not even when something struck him in the back; it wasn't _that_ hard a blow. Theo had no leverage. There were thumps and bangs from the back, but he couldn't look; he had to trust Holly to hold her own.

The gun was trapped between John and Hans; John braced his good foot and forced his body weight on top of Hans, to pin him. He was too close to get in any good hits, but it freed up his left arm, and he used it to sock Hans in the gut with as much force as he could muster, again and again.

There was machine gun fire, but not from inside the ambulance. What the hell? But Hans almost shoved him off, and John focused on him again.

Holly was behind him, reaching over. To get Theo? No, the radio—"This is Holly Gennaro McClane, from Nakatomi. The terrorists have escaped in an ambulance headed westbound on Santa Monica Boulevard."

She stopped talking and reached over John; he could feel her, even if he couldn't see her. She was holding something, and using it to bash Hans over the head. John smiled, grimly. That was his Holly, all right. No shrinking violets here.

The machine gun went off—the noise shocked John into stillness for a second; he couldn't quite _focus_. It passed quickly, and John realized he wasn't hit. Had he triggered it, or had Hans? Hans wasn't hit, either; the barrel was pointing up towards the ceiling. John brought his left hand back to try and wrestle it away. Had he hit _Holly?_

The swaying and jerking … wasn't just in his head. The ambulance screeched to a halt.

"I'm done," said Theo. "This is _not_ worth getting shot over."

John could hear the door slam as the driver slid out, but his focus was on Hans and the gun. Holly had started bashing him over the head again, so she couldn't be hurt bad.

Hans' fingers loosened on the gun; John yanked, and got it away. Holly leaned forward over him again—what? oh, the door latch—and opened the door. With a shove, Hans was outside, and Holly straightened. She slid over into the drivers' seat—the engine was still running—and shifted into reverse. John figured out what the plan was and dove into the passenger's seat, still warm from Hans, closed the door, and braced himself as well as he could while Holly back up about twenty feet, switched to forward gear, and floored it.

Hans still looked pretty dazed as he went under, John noted. Holly must've been clocking him good with whatever the hell it was she'd had.

She didn't slow down when they were past him.

"John, I think the back door is open," she said. "Will you close it?"

"Sure, honey, anything you want," John said. The adrenaline was draining away, again, letting back all the aches and pains—and stabbing agonies—it had masked. He shifted himself back to the bench in the back, then scooted himself along it to the rear doors. He didn't trust himself to stay on his feet, not with the ambulance in motion. Through the open door he could see Hans, still on the ground, and Theo behind him, carrying something as he ran off. Behind that … John squinted through the darkness. Was that … a machine gun firing? Looked like it.

"Hey, Holly, what happened to Karl?" John asked as he closed the rear doors (harder than it sounded).

"I used the cases to trap him against the door, like you said," Holly said, "and then I reached over and unlatched the door while he was still surprised and trying to get his gun free. He fell out, and before he could get up and start shooting at us I closed the rear door. I must not have gotten it latched, though. Then I came up front to call for help and take out Hans."

"Maybe Theo opened it back up after he got out," John said. "Looked like he was carrying one of the cases, and there's one missing from back here."

"Guess he thought he deserved to get paid, after all," Holly said. "Look, John, I've never driven anything this big before, and I've never operated a radio like this. For all I know, it may not even have been on. You wanna come back up here and call for help?"

"Sure thing," John said as he slid forward again. "Then can we turn around and take out Karl, too? I'm don't like the idea of him running around loose until backup gets here."

"He's still got his gun, right?" Holly said. "If so, we're _not_ going back. I doubt he'll get far before the cops get here, and I'm not taking the chance of him killing one of us. Not now, after we've finally _both_ gotten free. I want some distance between them and me."

"You don’t wanna finish the job?" John asked. "Between the two of us, we did a number on him."

"Yes, and don’t think I'll be forgetting just who got the best of him in the end," Holly said. "Besides, the thing management does best is learn to _delegate_ , John." She smiled at him. "I know you think that's a dirty word, but right now I am delegating the cleanup to someone else."

"You know, you're about the most incredible woman I've ever known? This is not just the husband or the guy in love with you talking. I'm talking as a New York cop who's seen just about everything there is to see and then some. You are something else. Maybe you should've been a cop yourself."

"Thank you, John, but one in the family is enough." Holly said. "I like my job. I _love_ my job. And I'm just as good at _that_ —maybe better."

John sighed. "Yeah." If that weren't the case, neither of them would be here; they'd be back home in New York. On the other hand, if it weren't for the two of them, Hans and his merry men would probably have gotten away with it all, and Hans wouldn't be a pancake on the freeway. John brightened. It was worth a _lot_ to him to have Hans be a smear on the road.

He stared at the radio. It would be a _lot_ easier if his ears would stop ringing and his head would stop pounding. He picked it up, checked that it was on, and clicked the button. "Mayday, mayday, this is John McClane in an ambulance heading westbound on Santa Monica. Anybody read me?"

He listened, but there was no answer. He squinted at the controls again. They didn't look right. Maybe something had hit them in the fight? Had it been before or after Holly tried to call out? He tried flipping a few switches to what he _thought_ it should be and tried again. "Mayday, mayday, this is John McClane in an ambulance heading westbound on Santa Monica. Anybody read me?"

The radio crackled on this time. _"Roy, Roy, is that you?"_ It was Al Powell, about the best sound John had ever heard.

"Yeah, it's me. You okay there, Al?

_"We're fine, here, just cleaning up, but we thought you were gone for sure. Then we heard your wife on the radio. What the hell happened? The whole tower—hell, the whole plaza—is toast. We've got units on their way to you as we speak, they should be there shortly."_

"Tell them to send another ambulance, 'cause this one's a crime scene," John said. "Three terrorists grabbed Holly and me to use as hostages if they needed and shoved us in an ambulance to escape. One's a white man, six-two or six three, long blond hair, mid-thirties, armed with a machine gun, named Karl. Last seen on foot on the Santa Monica, firing at us. Hans is a white man, about six-one, unarmed, we and ran over him with the ambulance so I don’t think he's going anywhere. But he does a real convincing American accent, don't let it fool you, he's the leader. There's also a black guy, six foot, maybe mid-thirties, named Theo on the road somewhere. He's armed, but he left under his own power and we think he took a case looted from Nakatomi with him. All are behind us on the freeway. We're continuing westbound until we connect with a police escort to the hospital."

_"How are you doing?"_

"I think Holly's fine," John said. "She's driving. Me, I'm kinda banged up. I think I got a concussion, and I _know_ I've got a damned huge gash in my foot that's killing me, dunno what all crap got into it but I've been running around without shoes all night so I _know_ it's gonna get a hell of an infection."

_"Okay, Roy, we're passing that along to the paramedics. You just stay on the line, we'll be there with you shortly."_

"Tell him about the guy Theo stuffed in a trunk," Holly said.

"What?" John asked.

"Remember, Theo said he hit a guy and stuffed him in a trunk in the parking lot before they dragged us out?"

John blinked. Right, yeah, he thought he remembered Theo saying that. When they captured him, they must've hit his head but _good_. "Hey, Al, do me a favor, have someone look at the cars parked under the Nakatomi building," he said. "I think the terrorists might have stuffed someone in a trunk on the way out." He frowned. "Actually, it might be a black driver named Argyle—he was supposed to be waiting for me in the parking garage, before this whole thing started."

_"Roger that, Roy. Hey, look in the mirror. I think I can see you; can you see us?"_

John looked over and saw flashing lights in the mirror. "Yeah, I can see you. Man, those red and blue lights are the prettiest Christmas lights I've ever seen."

Holly let out a breath and started slowing down, coming to a gentle stop. John slid from his seat and turned to her; she grabbed him in a bear hug. He buried his nose in her neck, letting her familiar scent soothe his nerves.

"We made it," Holly said.

"Yeah," John said. "Both of us, together."

"Together, we can take on anything," Holly said.

They waited in silence until the police cars approached, one pulling to a stop by the passenger door.

"Roy?" John could hear Al yell.

"Yeah, it's us," John said. Al opened the door, and John climbed over the passenger seat, half-falling out the door. But Al was there to catch him, and he didn't even jar his bad foot. There were paramedics running up to him. "Holly and me want to be in the same ambulance," John said.

"Sir—" one said.

"Tonight I have been held hostage, kidnapped, had my children threatened, and drove over the son of a bitch who did it all," Holly said from over his shoulder. "You do _not_ want to upset me."

"Fair enough," the other one said with a grin.

"Hey, what about—" John started.

"—the kids?" Holly finished.

"A unit went to their place with a social worker to pick them up and get them away from the media circus," Al said. "I'll see that they're taken to the hospital to meet you."

"I better not see the jerk who put them on television and let our captors know who John and I were," Holly said, voice hard.

Al smiled. "I'll see he's kept out of your way, ma'am."

"Thanks, pal," John said.

"Any time," Al said. He nodded to Holly. "It was a pleasure to meet you, ma'am. You two take good care of each other, now."

"Oh, I think we will," Holly said with a smile.

Together, in the ambulance, they clung to one another while the paramedics checked them out.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm also on [dreamwidth](http://beatrice-otter.dreamwidth.org/) and [tumblr](http://beatrice-otter.tumblr.com/).


End file.
